


This Can't Be Happening (Except It Is)

by sonofabitch_awesome



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Crack, Hand Jobs, Human Castiel, M/M, Sam Ships It, Sam is only here offscreen, Sexual Humor, Trapped In A Closet, a bit crack-y
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-01-28
Updated: 2015-01-28
Packaged: 2018-03-09 11:55:23
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,129
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3248741
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/sonofabitch_awesome/pseuds/sonofabitch_awesome
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“I’m tired of this thing with you and Cas,” Sam calls through the door. “I’m not letting you out of the closet until… you’re *out* of the closet.” He’s barely said the words before he’s cracking up laughing all over again.</p>
            </blockquote>





	This Can't Be Happening (Except It Is)

**Author's Note:**

> Thought of this one while browsing through some “Sam ships it” posts on Tumblr. I’m p sure I’m not the only one to get this idea, though. :P
> 
> Story presupposes that Cas is human, and the Mark is gone. Brief callback to 10x07 “Girls Girls Girls”, but I didn’t really pick a specific spot where this would occur.

**This Can’t Be Happening (Except It Is)**  
  
How the _fuck_ did he fall for this?  
  
Who the hell hears their annoying little brother tell them “Hey, I think I saw something on the shelf in that closet, go check it out” and actually _listens_? Little brothers by nature are little bitches.  
  
For that matter, who the hell is stupidly _trusting_ enough not to think anything of it when said little brother asks their newly-humanified angel friend to go help check the shelf? What had he been thinking?  
  
Or is he just that much of a dumbass?  
  
Dean grits his teeth and shakes the doorknob again, but – obviously – it doesn’t open. This closet is one of the ones that lock shut from the outside, and although they _should_ be able to open it from within, Sam’s jammed the lock with something on the other side that refuses to yield. Not to mention – Dean throws his shoulder into the door, confirming – it feels like something’s been shoved against it, just to ensure that Sam is indeed being a _complete_ douche.  
  
“Sammy, let us the hell out!” Dean calls again.  
  
The only reply is a highly amused chuckle. “Sorry, Dean. Sorry, Cas.”  
  
“If I were still an angel, this wouldn’t be an issue,” Castiel says, his low voice thick with annoyance. Annoyance at yet another situation his humanity is making difficult, and annoyance at Sam’s prank.  
  
“I know, Cas,” Dean snaps. “Stand back, I’m gonna kick it.”  
  
He hears Cas step back, although in this particular closet, there’s really nowhere else he can go. “I don’t think that will—”  
  
Dean braces himself and kicks at the door near the handle.  
  
Not a damn thing. Well, now his foot aches a little. He’d kicked a little harder than he probably should have, knowing how sturdy the building materials are in the Bunker. But goddamn it, he’s pissed the fuck off and desperate to get out of here, away from Cas’s warmth and the darkness they’re draped in and—  
  
And nope, he is not gonna finish that kind of thought right now.  
  
“Sammy, you dick, let us out,” Dean yells. He swears the place is shrinking; he focuses on the narrow beam of light at the top of the doorframe. It’s not enough to highlight much past the door.  
  
“I’m tired of this thing with you and Cas,” Sam calls through the door. He sounds as if he’s closer, and then there’s a quiet protest of wood as if it's had someone heavy lean on it. “I’m not letting you out of the closet until… you’re _out_ of the closet.” He’s barely said the words before he’s cracking up laughing all over again.  
  
Cas sighs heavily and walks closer, his steps audible against the floor and his arm and chest brushing up against Dean as he moves. “Let me try,” he states.  
  
“Oh, you think you can do this?” Dean spits, desperately trying to offset the fact that every cell in his body is alarmingly alert (and suddenly hungry) with the pretense that he’s angry at Cas as well as Sam. Stupid Cas, being so always-present and _here_ living with them now and loyal and attra—  
  
Nope, he said he wasn’t going to think those kinds of things.  
  
“I have to _try_ ,” Cas answers. “Back off a second.” Dean obliges and takes a few steps away, pressing himself up against the far wall, practically hiding behind the row of jackets. He stares across at the shelving unit where they keep an extra arsenal of weapons, even though he can only make out the shape (barely).  
  
He’s only too happy to put distance between him and Cas. Even human, Cas is a little intimidating when he gets all determined like that. Dean can imagine his serious-business face only too easily, blue eyes flaring with a passionate intensity that his humanity hasn’t dwindle—  
  
And stop. _Shut up_ , Dean forcefully tells himself. _You woman._  
  
“You guys can try as much as you like,” Sam tells them, highly entertained from the sound of his voice. “I shoved a table against the door and I’m leaning against it right now. Lots of boxes stacked on top, too, weighing things down.”  
  
Castiel kicks at the door, harder maybe than Dean had. It has the same effect. Which is to say, none. The light from the top of the doorframe is barely enough to vaguely outline him dropping his foot down again and shaking his head. “I’m sorry, Dean,” he says. “It won’t go.”  
  
“Sam, why are you doing this?” Dean demands.  
  
Sam’s footsteps shuffle around, and his voice moves a little bit away from the door. “Because it’s been _how_ many years? I can’t take all the eye sex. Admit things to yourselves and I’ll leave you alone.”  
  
The flush in Dean’s face is so strong that he wonders how the closet is not in flames. “Shut up, Sammy, you don’t know what you’re talking about.”  
  
He half-expects Cas to say something obliviously observant, maybe something about their so-called “more profound bond,” but fortunately, the former angel says nothing. Dean can barely see him stepping to the left side of the door, his shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to put as much distance between them as possible.  
  
“You said yourself that he loves you. I’ve known it for forever, and now I know you know it too,” Sam counters. “‘The people who love me’ - not ‘my family,’ not ‘my friends,’ ‘the _people_ who _love_ me.’”  
  
Dean takes an involuntary step forward away from the wall. “That was—”  
  
“The _truth_ , Dean,” Sam interrupts. “I know when you’re lying for the case. That wasn’t a lie.”  
  
Cas turns away as Dean approaches the door.  
  
“Goddamnit, Sammy, this is _ridiculous_!” Dean yells.  
  
Sam laughs. “Hey, this is me getting my sanity back. This is me tired of having to tell you things over and over cause you’re busy looking at Cas. So man up, admit there’s something between you two, and I’ll let you out. Then we can all go back to our lives like normal here.”  
  
Fuck. He doesn’t even care that Cas is entirely too close next to him by the door. Dean grabs the doorknob and twists frantically, almost like he’s trying to break someone’s neck. “Get—us— _out_ of here!” His arm brushes against Cas’s as he moves, and Dean tries to steady his breathing and ignore the electricity suddenly igniting along his forearm.  
  
“I’m gonna go watch some more Game of Thrones,” Sam says. “You two enjoy yourselves. Check in on you in a little bit.” His footsteps grow softer and then disappear entirely from earshot.  
  
“Dammit, Sam—!” Dean pushes forward and throws his shoulder against the unyielding metal of the door again. Of course it doesn’t do anything, and the motion bounces him off a little harder than he anticipated, throwing him slightly off balance. He stumbles.  
  
“Dean—” Cas is still too close, and – this is _un_ fucking _fair_ – reaches for Dean as he pitches sideways to steady him and prevent his falling on the floor. Honestly, the closet is too small for a full tumble, Dean thinks, desperately trying to distract himself, he’d probably have smacked his head on the far wall instead.  
  
He’s standing firmly now, no danger of falling. _Cas, let go of me_ , Dean doesn’t say. Because he can’t. This close, he can actually _see_ Cas. Maybe his eyes have adjusted finally or something. Cas is staring at him with that look he always gets, as if he’s memorizing Dean’s face for a police sketch artist later and he doesn’t want to identify the wrong person. This close, Dean can tell that his eyes are slightly blown in a way that he’s never seen before – on Cas, anyway.  
  
Cas’s hands are steady on his arms, one on Dean’s left bicep and one on his right forearm. Dean’s breathing is suddenly rough and irregular, coming in patches as he keeps forgetting to inhale. Too late, he realizes he just licked his lips.  
  
Sam _can’t_ be right about this, he fucking can’t. Dean will never hear the end of it.  
  
He swallows nervously. “Ca—”  
  
And then, in one motion, it’s over, every ounce of denial and jokes to make light of it and the two of them standing separately and Dean being annoyed at Sam. Suddenly Cas is on him, gripping his arms in an entirely different way as he pushes Dean against the wall and locks his mouth against Dean’s.  
  
Dean has maybe two milliseconds of _This can’t happen_ and then he groans and surrenders completely, thinking _This can’t be happening_ in a different tone, fisting his hands in the top of Cas’s gray Henley and getting him even closer.  
  
Cas’s palms slip up to his face, hands warm and solid against Dean’s stubble. Dean’s hands, meanwhile, migrate to Cas’s back, arms threading around him and clutching, holding him _here_ and unmistakably _with Dean_ because this can’t be happening, this isn’t happening – except it is, and thank God for that.  
  
He needs more. Like a dam bursting, once this thing has started, Dean suddenly can’t get enough. He licks along the edges of Cas’s lips, pressing forward to deepen the kiss.  
  
Cas is still sort of new to the whole human sexuality thing ( _sex?_ Dean thinks fuzzily, wondering, hoping…), so he’s relatively inexperienced but learning fast what works and what feels good. His tongue works in uncertain little movements against Dean’s while his palms move again, tracing along Dean’s sides and settling on the sides of his waist. He shoves his hips against Dean in shy but insistent little motions.  
  
Dean pushes back, tangling his fingers in Cas’s hair and breathing him in, his warm human scent and store-brand laundry detergent and ocean-something-or-other body soap. With the few brain cells coherent enough to think separately, he wonders why the _hell_ they haven’t been doing this the entire time.  
  
Cas somehow is able to pull his mouth away and attaches his lips to the hollow of Dean’s throat, kissing and moving and kissing again. “ _Dean…_ ” he murmurs hoarsely against his skin, lips warm and wet and _so_ welcome.  
  
Dean shudders at the sound of his name spoken in that tone, inhaling roughly and holding onto Cas’s back. “Yeah, Cas, I—yeah,” is all he can say. Cas drags his face back up to Dean’s, wonder etched over his features, and then their lips are locked together again as firmly as their waists.  
  
Zero to sixty, that’s what this is, and it’s too soon and not soon enough all at once. Dean manages to find Cas’s hand and braids their fingers together, clasping and holding on for the ride while he reaches around and clenches at Cas’s ass, pulling him in tighter.  
  
Cas’s other hand, meanwhile, is drifting along between them at Dean’s waist, forcing them apart only enough so it has room to sneak into the denim of his jeans.  
  
This _absolutely_ can’t be happening. Can it?  
  
Dean whimpers into Cas’s mouth as the hand travels further south and grazes against him. “Holy shit, Cas,” he says eloquently, struggling to bring air into his lungs. And yep, there it is, Cas is holding on to him and he’s not going to last like this, because of so many years of this building and Sam was absolutely right (but Dean is never going to admit it and he is never going to live this down) and his entire world right now is Cas. Cas, licking into his mouth, tightening his grip on Dean’s body, his other hand still entwined with Dean’s in a strange contrast of grade school innocence and horny high school closet hookup.  
  
He pulls his own hand forward, dipping into Cas’s pants, intending to match him move for move. But Cas twists his wrist and moves his hand faster then, and it’s all Dean can do to remain standing. He doesn’t make a sound as he comes, because every syllable he could speak and every noise he could make is pushed into Cas’s mouth, who swallows his unspoken words with a muffled laugh and presses their joined hands flat against the wall.  
  
They part messily, finally letting go to wipe at mouths and stare at each other. ( _Now_ Dean gets what Sam meant about the eye sex, because spent or no, he basically wants to throw himself at Cas when he looks at Dean that way.)  
  
Dean is breathing heavily, and his other hand is still at Cas’s waistband and getting friendlier when they hear a loud, obnoxious _KNOCK KNOCK KNOCK._  
  
“What, Sammy?” Dean demands, a bit more sharply than he intended.  
  
“Well?” Sam says, apparently just as amused as he was earlier.  
  
Cas’s eyes are glittering. “Give us five more minutes.”


End file.
